


Nightmares and Daydreams

by breatheinsync



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, The start of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheinsync/pseuds/breatheinsync
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In less than a day, Abbie Mills' life was thrown into upheaval by the arrival of Ichabod Crane and the beginning stirrings of an ancient prophecy. In the midst of this great adventure, she deals with the reality of Sheriff Corbin's death and searches for something similar to normalcy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares and Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after the first episode, when I was instantly and hopelessly smitten with the extraordinary Abbie Mills. Plus, I ship her with Ichabod with the passion of a thousand universes. This show is such a wonderful surprise and I can't wait for more!

 

 

Abbie Mills’ whole body jolted at the cracking of the glass, eyes widening as the familiar form of her never-ending nightmares disappeared behind the reality of the shards. Remembering and seeing it again were two different beasts, but neither demon was more tolerable.

 

Ichabod Crane spoke behind her, but it took her a few seconds longer to claw her way back out of the horrors of her past. She refused to allow the fear take her prisoner, to give the terror room to rob her of who she was now, but it was took a few more cleaning gulps of air before she felt like herself again. Andy’s broken body lay motionless on the floor and she knelt down beside it, her fingers easily discovering the place on the side of his throat where his pulse would have been…only they touched cracked bones and suddenly, her fingers were mercilessly stained with his blood.

  
_The nightmares had never felt quite this real._

 

 

~

 

Captain Irving’s face was a study in disbelief, eyes squinted in curiosity before opening in surprise as hers looked straight on and methodically described what had just occurred. Hurriedly, he dashed off to corroborate her story, returning a few seconds later, looking as though he had aged a decade traveling that short distance.

 

“Were you with him the whole time?” he demanded to know, wearing every bit of his position as his arms crossed over his chest. The surprise that sparked in her eyes at the question was all the answer he required and he nodded, leaning back as he glanced over at Ichabod, who seemed to have gotten particularly distracted by the vending machine.

 

“I don’t know what his entire deal is yet, but I do know that so far is that for every absurd and bizarre claim he’s made, the evidence corroborated his story. And Sheriff Corbin taught me to follow the evidence.” Her face softened, for a brief second, as she recalled the series of losses she’d suffered in the span of a day. Irving watched Ichabod consideringly for another moment before cocking his head toward his desk.

 

“Someone has to tell Delia. Not details, but the basics,” Irving reminded her, resting his hip against the side of the desk. Abbie shook her head, covering her face in her hands as they she could disappear into them and avoid doing what she had already known she would have to do. It was the part of the job she hated the most. Rubbing her face in an effort to ease some of her own exhaustion, she nodded in acceptance.

 

“I’ll do it. It should come from me,” she agreed, her mouth releasing the words even as her mind refused to follow suit.

 

Irving shifted uncomfortably before looking straight at her shoulder.

 

“What are you going to do with him?” he asked.

 

“Don’t we have some money in the budget for a hotel room?” she retorted, her eyebrows crinkling in annoyance.

 

“We do, but he’s still the most important piece of evidence we have and I want him somewhere we can keep an eye on him.”

 

“Captain,” she began, irritation clear in her voice.

 

“He goes with you or he stays in holding overnight,” he interrupted, a sense of finality accompanying his words.

 

Tamping down on the urge to roll her eyes or shout at him, she held her hands up in surrender before grabbing her bag from her desk.

 

“Crane,” she called, grabbing his attention from the vending machine. He pointed to it as his forehead furrowed in befuddlement.

 

“What is the purpose of this display case? Is it some sort of temptation device?”

 

Her head tilted to the side in something between amusement and consideration, before she released a chuckle.

 

“Come on.” Her strides were quick, despite her petite form, and his soon fell into step beside her.

 

~

 

“What other wonderful surprises lay in wait for me on this modern adventure I’m having?” Ichabod wanted to know once they had settled into her personal car, the biting sarcasm tempered by the playfulness of his tone.

 

“I need to stop somewhere for a few a minutes, and then I’m taking you home.” She felt the throbbing begin along her temples, hinting at the impending headache that was brewing inside. The weariness scraped against her bones but she forced herself to drive onward.

 

“Home? To your home,” he queried incredulously.

 

“Just for now. I have to be back at work in a few hours and I need some sleep, so you can rest too, or read, or perform another blood ritual to send yourself back in time, but you’ll have to do it quietly,” she rambled. Sniping at him didn’t have the desired effect of relieving any of her anxiety and she focused her eyes straight ahead, turning down a narrow road that was shortcut to Sheriff Corbin’s house. The place that had been his home.

 

Pulling up into the two car-driveway, she turned the car off and sat there in silence, peering out at the garage door that she had helped to paint in exchange for a cheeseburger and a lazy summer day. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, trying not to think about the wideness of the gap inside of her chest. It seemed all her sorrows had pooled together to fill the hollow and it threatened to choke her off.

 

“Lieutenant,” he inquired.

 

“You will stay in the car,” she mumbled against the leather of the wheel before lifting her head against, resting the back of her head against the headrest. “If I find you anywhere except for in that seat, in that exact position, I _will_ shoot you.”

 

His lips parted to speak but she was out of the car and slamming the door hard before the thought completed itself. Every step between the car and the door felt leaden, her feet dragging as they brought her closer and closer. Her loose hands turned to fists and she felt herself wishing that there was a physical manifestation of devastation, something tangible that she could put her fists to. But she felt powerless against the pain she was about to bring to someone she cared for immensely. Worse, the dull throbbing had escalated to a devious pounding between her eyes, but duty straightened her spine.

 

Her knuckled pressed harder against the door than necessary and Delia Corbin’s smiling face greeted her. The woman’s dark brown hair had been pulled back in a braid, leaving her gentle face open. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, a simple sweater and jeans, and her hands were covered by thick gloves, one of them holding a pair of gardening shears.

 

“Oh Abbie, how are you? I was just pruning the roses in the backyard. How are…” her voice trailed off as her mind began to register the look on Abbie’s face. As the sheriff’s wife, Betty had convinced herself to be prepared for just such a moment. But now, in the face of it all, she found she had failed to steel herself as the shock seemed to shut down her system and she froze, all her worries centering on a single thought.  

 

“August?”

 

The last word was a plea, begging Abbie to say something, anything except for what she had come here to tell her.

 

“Can we go inside?” Abbie spoke politely, proud of her voice for not cracking as it wanted to.

 

The gardening shears fell from her fingers and clattered noisily as her hand covered her mouth. Delia’s head fell forward, bowing underneath the despair that rose inside of her like a destructive blaze, and Abbie moved forward to slide her arms around the other woman’s waist. When Delia’s broken sob shook her body, Abbie trembled with her.

 

A handful of gasping breaths later, Abbie guided the woman deeper inside and left her to sit silently at the edge of the couch, going to get her a glass of water. The awareness that she knew her way around this kitchen, had been here only a couple of weeks ago, stabbed at the freshness of her loss and staggered her. But she was here for another and clung to that knowledge as she headed back into the living room.

 

“Give me the details.”

 

Pursing her lips, she tried to collect her fragmented thoughts and settled on the truth. 

 

“He was violently attacked earlier this evening at Fox Creek Stables. It’s still an open investigation, so I can’t tell you much more than that at the moment, but…”

 

Delia interrupted.

 

“Do you have the person that did it in custody?” Her normally warm eyes were rimmed with red, the resounding heartache taking its immediate toll.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“Do you know who it is?” She leaned forward, her hands squeezed together in her lap as she viewed her, needing answers, longing for something other than the realization that in a matter of minutes, the cozy life she’d been living had been shattered.

 

“I do,” Abbie responded, dreading the direction the conversation had taken.

 

“Who?” Delia whispered, pressing her lips together to hold back the cry that seemed to swirl inside her mouth.

 

“He…he’s not from here. He’s an outsider. We’ll tell you more soon. I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do for now.” She wished she could tell her everything, share all of the absurd, illogical details of the crime, take on some of the widow’s agony herself, but some things were still impossible. Delia’s head bobbed up and down before her hands covered her face again, weeping into her palms. Abbie moved to sit beside and soothingly stroke her hand along the woman’s back.

 

“I’m so sorry. I’m…I’m just. I’m sorry.” She held her own misery at bay as she let the sounds of grief fill the silence in the room.

 

_The nightmares had grown teeth._

 

~

 

When she returned to the car, she found Ichabod’s still form dozing in the passenger seat. Sliding in as quietly as possible, she turned the car on and the noises woke him from his rest.

 

“Was that Sheriff Corbin’s wife?” he pried.

 

She quirked an eyebrow up at him.

 

“How did you know?”

 

“You have an expressive face. The dread was painted in stark colors when we departed from the police station.”

 

She nearly issued a snappy reply but a glance at him informed her that the concern was genuine.

 

“It’s the worst part of my job,” she allowed. While she was a friendly individual by nature, letting someone into the emotional, messy parts of her life was something she avoided whenever possible.

 

“And yet you do it.”

 

A memory flashed into her mind, uninvited.

 

_Sheriff Corbin stood beside her, knocking on the door. His frame was sturdy, and despite only a few weeks of working together, familiar._

_“It’s going to suck, but you can do it.”_

_She felt nauseous, her empty stomach roiling with anxiety. But she dug her fingernails into her palm and schooled her features._

_The door opened and the father of the victim, a young boy in a hit-and-run, stood before her._

_“Mr. Turner?” she asked. She’d been as informative as possible, kind, understanding, but had realized during the time that nothing she could say would ease their burden. She was powerless. Afterward, in the cop car, she couldn’t bear to speak again._

_“It’s the worst part of the job,” Corbin told her, sipping on his second cup of coffee for the day._

_“Does it get easier?”_

_“No. But sometimes, we win. Sometimes, we get to bring them good news. And that makes up for all this.” He tossed her the brown paper Starbucks bag with the banana nut muffin he’d grabbed for her. “You always forget to eat.”_

_She said nothing as she broke off a piece of the top and chewed on it, thankful for the companionship._

 

“And yet I do it. Because sometimes, we win.”

 

Neither spoke again for a few more minutes before Ichabod broke the quiet.

 

“Lieutenant,” he started.

 

“You could try Abbie, you know. I think that sharing a prophecy puts us on first-name basis.”

 

“Abigail,” he tried.

 

“Close,” she mumbled.

 

A few minutes passed before either of them spoke again.

 

“Abigail,” he entreated.

 

“What? Do you need to pee or something?”

 

“What is this obsession you seem to have with me needing to…ahem…relieve myself?”

 

“It’s not an obsession. It’s just an awareness of the fact that every time I’ve been in a car with a child for more than five continuous minute, they’ve always needed to pee.”

 

“Did you just insinuate that I was a child?”

 

“I think I did more than insinuate,” she clarified.

 

His surprised laugh settled in her stomach, accompanied by a slow ball of warmth that lessened the hollowness inside of her.

 

“Abbie,” he tried again.

 

“There. Yes?”

 

“I hate  to worried about something so mundane in the midst of our current upheaval of Biblical proportions, of which I fear we only know the first inklings about…”

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you ramble?” she wondered, throwing him a pointed look.

 

“I’d ramble less if I could just finish a sentence,” he huffed. Pursing her lips to hide her grin, she waved a hand to motion for him to continue. “I’m hungry.”

 

Her head turned to look at him in anticipation, waiting for him to carry on but his hand moved through the air.

 

“That was it. I need nourishment.”

 

“Oh,” she remarked, sparing a glance at the clock before she realized that it was already 10 am. She hadn’t had the luxury of time to even realize it had been nearly half a day since she herself had eaten. Trying to remember whether or not she had anything left in her usually empty fridge, her car pulled up to the light and she realized where she was. On the left stood the diner she had been inside of only hours prior, the cheerful facade of it drawing a sudden painful pang of memory. _Be brave_ , she reminded herself, as she made the turn and pulled into the parking lot.

 

_The nightmare snapped open its mouth and gorged itself on the flesh of her memories._

 

~

 

It wasn’t sadism, but rather courage, that had her choosing the same booth she’d sat in only a few hours ago, _with the Sheriff_ , she tried not to remember. In the years that had gotten her to this age, she had learned that inaction and acceptance were too closely related for comfort. She was no longer the scared girl she had been years ago, lost and lonely in a forest, trying to protect her sister from a demon without a shape. She was no longer helpless.

 

Sliding into the seat was easy, but looking up into Maddie’s sympathetic face was not. Her crestfallen expression only underlined how far the ripples of tragedy had spread. In a small town like this one, every relationship became significant, every interaction magnified.

 

“I heard from Billy,” she explained, crooking a shoulder behind her towards Billy, the manager’s, wide body blocking the entrance into the kitchen. “You know his brother just became a cop. I’m really sorry for your loss, Abbie.”

 

Maddie placed her warm hand gently on top of Abbie’s and the later woman allowed herself to be momentarily comforted by someone else. Ichabod watched silently as the confident, collected demeanor of the cop softened into the face of a woman in mourning. Only for a flash, a calming breath before the connection was broken as Maddie handed them both menus.

 

“It’s on the house.”

 

Abbie began to protest but Maddie interrupted her.

 

“Billy’s orders. Now, who’s this?” she posed, tilting her head toward Ichabod before giving him a long, steady look.

 

“He’s a dangerous criminal. You should be very wary of him. I should probably have kept the handcuffs on him, actually,” Abbie explained in a flat tone. Ichabod began to sputter in indignation and for the first time in the past couple of hours, Abbie found a real laugh sounding from her, the comfort of it spreading through her bones to her fingertips.

 

“I’ll come back in a few minutes for your orders. If he starts to misbehave, you make sure you protect the rest of us from him,” Maddie teased, leaving with a wink for Abbie and a side glance at Ichabod.

 

“You slandered my good name,” Ichabod objected, his forehead furrowing in disapproval.

 

“You really shouldn’t pout, you’ll get wrinkles,” she reasoned, looking down at the menu in an attempt to hide her unapologetic grin.

 

“Abigail?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“What is a frit..fry…fritt…what is this?” he requested, point to the menu.

 

“Frittata. It’s…what do they usually eat for breakfast in the 1700s?”

 

“Porridge. And ham. Mostly porridge, though, because there wasn’t a great deal of time during the war to slaughter, butcher and cook an entire ham.”

 

“I’m getting pancakes,” she decided, closing the menu.

 

“What are pancakes?”

 

“They’re small cakes made of flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and then cooked on a griddle.”

 

“Like johnnycakes.”

 

“Kind of,” she agreed. “Only better.”

 

“I’ll have the pancakes as well.”

 

“Brave little soldier, aren’t you?”

 

The absolute confusion on his face made her chuckle softly.

 

“What?” he repeated.

 

“Nothing. They’re really great pancakes. They’ll almost make up for the centuries you spent underground, Crane.”

 

“Abigail?” he announced.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You could try Ichabod. I’ve heard sharing a prophecy puts us on first-name basis,” he said, with a smirk.

 

The laughter burst out of her and spilled into him, both caught in the brief relief from the horrors they’d witnessed in their short time together.

 

“Ichabod.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

The rays of sun filtered in through the broad windows, bright beams warming her skin as their eyes met, and held long enough for a shared smile.

 

_And sometimes, the nightmares dissipated into the morning light._

_~  
_


End file.
